Art of Escape
by Tavia
Summary: Not you-in-the-story but me-in-the-story. Me and my friend Kris, both POTC fans, and somehow in the Port Royal jail cell with Jack. What happens then? No romance but a LOT of randomness. Much, much randomness...


Disclaimer: I don't own anything.  I would be happy to own Jack, but I don't.  Don't own Norrington either…don't really want him.  Also don't own Kris, she's a real person, though under a different name, and slavery was outlawed a century ago.  Kris, incidentally, is also to blame for the title, she tossed it out while thinking up a title for her story.  Conclusion: Nothing is mine.  Savvy?

The Art of Escape

The Scenario:

Two teenage girls (who happen to be big POTC fans, and who also happen to be myself and my friend Kris) have somehow or other found themselves in POTC, within a few months after the end of the movie.  Don't ask me how; that's another story.  Specifically "That's What a Ship Is, Y'know," author Purple Stain AKA Kris AKA Cate.  Meeting up with Jack (also another story, same one in fact) they've drifted into Port Royal.  From there they've drifted into the Port Royal jail cell.  Jack's a pirate, they're with him, Norrington isn't fond of any of them.  And so things stand.

The Narrative:

Hour One

Jack stood in the center of the cell, hands on his hips, and looked around him speculatively.  "I'm going to get us out of here," he announced.

Kris and I looked at him, a trifle dubiously.  We'd seen POTC far too many times; we knew just how, uh, _easily_ he'd gotten out of these cells last time.

"Are you?" I said finally.

"Oh yes.  Yes."  He nodded.  "Definitely.  Soon.  Very soon."

"And, uh, _how_ exactly are you going to do that?" Kris asked.

"How.  Yes, how."  He smoothed his moustache.  "I'm working on that part still."  He raised a hand.  "Don't rush me."

I shrugged, and took up a seat on the nearest bench.  "Can't help but be just a little skeptical, Jack.  Port Royal has pretty good cells."

"Hey, there's a way out of here, and I can find it," he insisted.

"You seem very sure of yourself," Kris observed.

"Don't forget, I've been in this cell before."  He spread his hands in characteristic Jack-style.  "And I got out then."

"Jack…much as we love you…Will was actually the one who got you out last time," Kris said gently.

"Hey, it's not my fault the keys ran off," he said defensively.  "And besides, that's not my only daring escapade.  I vanished from under the eyes of seven officers of the British East India Company."

I felt possessed of a desire to tease the good (or not so good) Captain Sparrow.  "So the story goes," I agreed, with a doubtful tone.

He frowned.  "And I escaped off the godforsaken spit of land Barbossa left me on."

"You spent three days sitting on the beach drinking rum," Kris pointed out.  I suspect she had a similar urge to tease.

The frown deepened.  "I evaded capture by Norrington twice."

"True, although exactly what connection that has to getting out of a cell is beyond me," I said.

"I'm _Captain Jack Sparrow_!" he said in final exasperation.

Kris and I looked at each other.

"I think he's hit on an indisputable argument," Kris decided.

"Absolutely," I agreed.  "Can't argue with that one."

Jack looked at us both in silence for a moment, then threw up his hands.  "I don't understand you."

"That's okay, we understand you," Kris said, and patted him on the arm.  "You just scurry off and find the way out."

"Riiight."

Hour Two

"Jack, what are you doing?" I asked.

The pirate captain was bent over double, carefully tapping the stones along the base of the wall.  "You never know when there might be a loose stone.  Cannon fire has a way of doing that."

"You would know," Kris agreed.

"Especially when hit by good cannons," Jack continued.  "And these walls were hit by the best."

"You know you're a little biased," I drawled.

He shrugged extensively, and continued tapping stones.

"Gonna take a while, isn't it?" Kris observed.

"Maybe."

"Do you want some help with that?"

"I'm _Captain Jack Sparrow_.  I have things under control."

Can't argue with that, as previously noted.  After a moment Kris spoke again, on a completely different topic.

"So…do they feed prisoners in this place?"

I blinked at her.  "We ate in the tavern two hours ago, just before we were arrested.  You're hungry again?"

She shrugged.  "Well, actually…"

I nodded.  "It figures."

"Yeah.  Remember the pizza at Shakespeare Players?"

Jack straightened rubbing his back.  "The which at the where?"

"Twelve teenage girls at our Shakespeare theater group ate three large pizzas in ten minutes," Kris explained.

Jack nodded.  "All right.  So what's a pizza and what's a Shakespeare?"

My eyes lit up.  I jumped to the top of the bench and assumed my most regal and outraged pose.  "'What _say_ you?'" I shouted.  "'_Hence_, horrible villain, or I'll spurn thine eyes like balls before me!  I'll unhair thy head!  Thou shalt be whipped with wire, stewed in brine, smarting in lingering _pickle_!'"

Jack was backed up against the wall, looking, uh, just a wee bit surprised.  "What was _that_?"

I beamed, and sat down again.  "That was Shakespeare."

"Sounded a lot like Anamaria," Jack muttered.

"Cleopatra, actually.  You should hear Kris go Margaret."  I grinned and couldn't resist.  I'm not good at resisting mischief, which would explain why I had just shouted Cleopatra lines to the heavens.  But we were talking about Kris going Margaret.  "'What would your grace have done unto him now?'" I asked.

Kris picked it up at once.  "'Brave warriors, Clifford and Northumberland, _come_!  Make him stand upon this molehill here!'"

"Who's him?" Jack interjected.

"Duke of York," Kris said.  "Who wrought at mountains with outstretched arms, yet parted but the shadows with his hand."

"Who reveled in our Parliament," I put in.

Kris nodded.  "And made preachment of his HIGH descent."

"Do you have any idea how completely _random_ you are?" Jack demanded.

"Yeah.  We kinda suspected it," Kris admitted.

Hour Three

Things hadn't changed much.  Jack was still tapping stones.  The cell had a bench on either side, and Kris and I had each sprawled on one.

"Y'know…" Kris said thoughtfully, "we're locked in a cell.  It smells.  It's hot.  There's no food, and there's nothing to do."  A pause.  "But it _sure_ beats being at school!"

"Definitely!" I agreed fervently.  "No question!"

Hour Four

Jack had given up on the stones.  Despite the fine quality of the _Pearl_'s cannons, it seemed that none of the blocks were loose.  They'd even repaired the hole in the wall since the last time Jack was here.  He was now gazing speculatively at the cell bars.

"I'm having a thought here.  These are half-pin…barrel…something…hinges.  With the appropriate lee-verage and a proper application of strength, the doors should lift off."

"But we're on the opposite side now.  It might not work from this angle," Kris pointed out, reasonably.

"Why do you think I didn't try it four hours ago?  But it's still worth a gamble."  Jack pushed back his hat.  "Get off the bench and let's see how this works."

Kris obligingly stood up.  Jack took hold of one end of the bench and pulled up.  It didn't move.  He pulled harder.  Nothing.  He spent a moment engaged in frenzied yanking (think of the sword in the wall) all to no avail.

"I think it's bolted to the floor," I offered.

Jack straightened.  "Never mind about the leverage."

Hour Five

Kris and I were still sitting on the benches.  Jack was leaning back against the wall, taking a momentary break from physical escape attempting to do some mental plotting.

"At least the island had food," Kris said into the silence.

"And palm trees."  That was me.

"And _rum_."  That was Jack.

Kris and I grinned at each other.  We find all references to rum amusing.  "And rum."

"If we had some rum, that would solve the problem of getting us out of here," Jack mused.

I blinked.  "You could get us out of here using _rum_?"

"No, but if I had some rum I wouldn't _care_ about getting us out of here."

Hour Six

"Jack, what are you doing?" Kris asked.

What he was doing was tapping on each of the crosspieces of the bars.  Each one.  Tapping.  For fifteen minutes straight.  "These are only secured with half-pin…barrel…somethings.  That can't be as good as whole pins.  Therefore somewhere on here there must be a loose one."

"We've been in here too long," I decided.  "That actually made sense to me."

Any reply didn't happen, as footsteps alerted us to the approach of visitors.

"Commodore Norrington!" Jack said cheerfully.  "Comrade!  Pal!  _Chum_!"

Norrington looked at him disapprovingly.  "You know that I'm hanging you tomorrow morning."

"I take back the comrade."

Norrington shook his head slowly.  "Jack, Jack, Jack."

Kris and I looked at each other, grinned, and said in unison, "Hubert…Hubert… _Hubert_."  It's a Shakespeare thing.

Jack shot us a look.  "_Random_."

Norrington ignored us.  "I was honestly hoping I'd never see you again," he told Jack.

"And I thought we were getting along so well."

"Because I knew that I would have to hang you," Norrington continued.

"Well, yes…yes, that might put a damper on things," Jack admitted.

"I have my duty to consider.  But I confess that I am not enjoying it.  And it doesn't help that certain individuals are having…issues."  Norrington frowned.  "I suspect that young Mr. Turner may challenge me to a duel over this."

"I always liked Will," Jack said sentimentally.  "The man's got great taste in hats."

Norrington ignored that.  "And then there's Miss Swann…who has challenged me to a duel."  His frown deepened.  "Not sure what she sees in you.  I keep thinking it might have something to do with the island…"  He shook himself.  "But I've resolved not to think about that."

Kris and I tried very hard not to laugh.  If you'd like in on the joke, I recommend "Doubts" by Calatrice.  We've read it.  That's why we were desperately trying not to collapse with laughter.

Jack smiled slyly.  "She's a beautiful girl, mate."

"I'm not thinking about the island!"

"And _very_ friendly."

"I'm not listening to you!"

Kris and I had given up on not laughing.  Silly idea anyway.

"Commodore, have you ever seen Elizabeth when she's drunk far too much rum?" Jack asked roguishly.

Norrington looked at him askance.  "I have never known Miss Elizabeth to drink to excess."

Jack frowned.  "Yeah, neither have I."  He sighed.  "More's the pity."

Norrington assumed a look of grave disapproval.  "This is entirely irrelevant, and quite inappropriate."  He then made a stab at getting back to relevance and propriety.  "I am here to inform you of your rights."

"Which are?" Jack asked.

"You have none," Norrington said briskly.

"Hey!  I know my rights!" I said, outraged.  "I'm not taking AP U.S. History for nothing!  First amendment, freedom of speech, press and religion!  Fifth Amendment, right to remain silent!  Second amendment, right to bear arms!  Third—"

Kris poked me.  "It's the 1600s.  They haven't been written yet."

I frowned.  "Oh yeah.  Rats.  Where's John Adams when you need him?"

Jack was staring at us.  "Random.  So random."

Norrington cleared his throat.  "More to the point, Port Royal makes a policy of giving food to condemned prisoners."

Kris beamed at him.  "I always liked you!"

Jack looked faintly hurt.  Norrington looked confused.

"Um, right."  Norrington reached for the door, then stopped.  He looked around.  "I don't have the key.  Where did the dog go?"

The guard with him shrugged, and glanced around the prison.  "Here, boy!  Good dog!" he called.

The dog immediately came out of wherever he'd been and trotted over to the guard, keys jingling.

Jack glared at it.  "Mutinous dog."

Norrington took the ring of keys and patted the dog on the head.  "Good boy."  Then he unlocked the door, opened it, and handed Jack a loaf of bread and jug of liquid.  Then he shut the door.

Kris snatched the bread from Jack at once.

I eyed it distastefully.  "Pizza would taste better."

"It's food," Kris said, ripping off a chunk.

I grinned.  "Don't bother standing on ceremony.  You won't impress anyone."

She looked up in mock horror.  "It's _poisoned_!" 

Jack shook his head, and muttered, "Random.  So completely random."

Norrington apparently felt that we were wasting his time, and, being Commodore Norrington of the Royal British Navy, he didn't have to put up with our randomness.  He gave us a brief nod, and left.

Jack, meanwhile, was investigating the jug.  "_Water_," he said, disgusted.  "That Norrington's got some nerve."  He leaned against the door.  "He could at least have the common decency to give us—"  The door swung open and Jack fell through, sprawling in the corridor beyond.  "—rum," he finished.

"Norrington didn't relock the door."  I blinked.  "He _didn't_ relock…"

"So he's either an idiot in a white wig or a good-guy at heart who doesn't really want to watch us hang," Kris mused.

Jack sat up.  "Figure it out later.  _I'm_ leaving."

Hour Seven

Once we got through the door, the rest was easy.  Only one guard, and he was asleep.  Getting out of Port Royal would seem to be more difficult, but it wasn't really.  Jack knew the back alleys.  Don't ask me how.  He just did.  From the docks to the _Black Pearl _was an equally simple step, for Captain Jack Sparrow and company anyway.  Of course, that wasn't the story that got told back on the _Pearl_.

"And after I broke the door down, there was still the twenty guards to deal with," Jack explained from the center of the crowd of pirates, bottle of rum in hand.

Kris and I listened from our perch on a couple of boxes nearby.

"So…is this how you remember it happening?" I asked her.

"No.  No, not really."

We listened for a moment as Jack described in great detail the sharp swords and devious natures of the twenty guards.

"Very Jack-like, isn't it?" Kris observed, amused.

I nodded.  "Very.  And I suppose he did get us out."

"Yeah, who knows how long it would have taken _us_ to think of leaning on the door," Kris said dryly.

"Oh yeah.  Yeah, that took skill."

Back in the cluster of pirates, Jack was still explaining about the treacherous natures and general stupidity of the guards.

"So how did you get past them," Anamaria asked, plainly tired of the long-winded details and wanting him to get to the point.

Jack spread his hands.  "I'm _Captain Jack Sparrow, _love!"

And that says it all.

Hope you enjoyed!  And I hope you found it…interesting.


End file.
